Rain and Sun
by blueskiesblack
Summary: A bunch of drabbles circling around any character I think to write about.
1. Sunshowers

**A/N: **I don't own Hetalia.  
**Warnings:** ...uhhh...none that I can think of, except for death by cheesy puns?

* * *

Middle of December. Middle of December, and the sun was still shining brightly. It made rainbows and butterflies and little worlds of light, and oh, how he wished that it would never end, that the gray skies would leave him alone...

"Wh't 'r'y' d'ing th'r?"

He blinked and smiled at the taller man, coming to stand next to him. "Just looking," and his voice was soft and gentle and had none of that war-roughness that he had feared, that had been ever-present since he'd returned from the war, bloodied and tired and smiling coldly, victoriously: someone he didn't know. Someone who scared him.

They stood in companionable silence. _Plip-plop-plip-plop_, and he found himself tracing the sun with a finger. The dazzling sun, muffled by rainbows and magnified by raindrops. An angel's abandoned halo.

Sweden must have a lot of work to do, Finland mused, but he still took time to visit him. How odd. How...silly. It made him love the other man more.

He leaned against the railing that was oh-so-common in his cities, nowadays--Safety Code D-97 and Health Regulations and whatever required it, but he didn't pay that much attention to it, just nodded as his officials learned of their own mistakes and scrambled to rectify them.

Admittedly, it wasn't beautiful to look at, none of the fancy Victorian scrolling on England's iron gates with gargoyles and dragons breathing metal flames; it was beautiful in its own way, with water droplets gliding gently over the pebbled stainless steel. He watched with mild interest when the rain fell on his elbows, propped on the railing, with hands fisted and tucked beneath his chin. The cold rain running down his skin--

"'ou a'r'ght?" Sweden's blue eyes held a reservoir of concern for Finland.

"I'm fine, Su-san." Rainbows and mist and fog. He stretched out his arms, seeing how far they spiraled into empty space; spread his hands to form their own little shadow rainbow. Finland looked at Sweden, tilting his head up with just a hint of a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Shall we go home? It's getting awfully chilly out here; I could use something to warm me up."

The heat in Sweden's eyes had nothing to do with his suddenly racing heart.

Laughing, he grabbed the other's arm.

The sun was still shining.


	2. Supermarkets

"Lovi, Lovi, come look!" Spain tugged on Romano's sleeve excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Romano was distinctly reminded of China and the man's Hello Kitty urges. To think that both are centuries older than he--

"Antonio, dammit, we're _shopping_. We're in a _supermarket_. People are _staring_, dammit!"

"But--_look_, Lovi! Look!" Spain dragged him by his sleeve to the produce section. He was reminded instantly of his younger brother, always bouncing around and tugging at sleeves and saying "Germany, Germany!"

...dammit. He didn't want to think about macho-potato today.

"Ungh, wha-?" There was a tomato being shoved at him.

A _ripe_, _luscious_,_ red _tomato, being shoved _at his face_.

Romano's first instinct was to lean forward and take a bite of it. His second was to yell at Spain for even offering the temptation.

"...what?" It's painful, but they're in a supermarket, one of _his_ supermarkets. He couldn't afford to embarrass himself and get another sigh-filled scolding from his boss. The last time it had happened was over a month ago, the longest time he had ever gone with good behavior. He wasn't about to try and break it now.

"It's a tomato, Lovino." Spain was smiling with one of those idiotic smiles that he never got the point of--just standing there, smiling stupidly with a tomato in hand. He was also wearing his "I Heart Tomatoes" t-shirt as well, Romano noticed belatedly. Everything about the man screamed 'tomato', and Romano just wanted to--

"Yeah. I noticed that." Dammit, but it was getting harder for him to stop himself from just reaching out, one little bit, and bite into the luscious red flesh and take another and another until he had completely devoured the--

"But it's not just _any_ tomato~" Spain sang. There's an obvious expression of sheer happiness on his face. "It's a _Roma_ tomato, Lovino~! It's named after you--"

He didn't know whether to sigh, start cursing, or yell at Spain.

Romano did all three.

They ended up buying pounds and pounds of the tomatoes, taking them home to toss with cold pasta and eat.


End file.
